by Jo Bunt
“George! How are you?” I stood to place a kiss on his cheek.
“Me? I am blessed with a beautiful family, fine clothes and a handsome face, so of course I am well! Waa-ha-ha! You?”
“Good, thanks.”
“And the mezze? You leave without saying ‘Goodnight’.” He wagged his finger comically in my direction.
“You looked busy. It was wonderful, George, thank you.”
“No, no, no. Tell me something in writer words.” He sat down in the empty chair recently vacated by his son.
“Well, where to start?” I sat down importantly. “The hummus was quite literally the best I have ever tasted; smooth yet embroidered with nutty highlights and culminating with a lingering aftertaste that had my taste buds begging for more. It would be tantamount to abuse to deny my mouth the chance to taste that hummus again. The fish dishes were sublime in their simplicity. The freshness of the fish shone through the other flavours that were only there to highlight the essence of the main ingredient. The genius was letting the flavours speak for themselves.”
“Waa-ha! So it was perfect, yes?”
“No. I wouldn’t say perfect. Presentation could have been improved upon and your pitta breads were overcooked on the griddle. They were charred in places which overpowered the delicate presence of the tsatsiki.”
George roared his laughter to the skies which caused the others to glance in our direction.
“Writer lady, I like you. You come and work in my restaurant. I will sack my wife!”
“Where is she?” I asked, looking around. “I’d like to thank her for that meal.”
“Oh no! She does not have anything to say to beautiful women who criticise her cooking and then turn the heads of her husband and her only son! Waa-ha-ha-ha!”
I raised my eyebrow in response but not being sure which point to challenge first I let it drop and simply smiled along with the joke. I firmly refused George’s requests to dance and excused myself from the table with my head feeling heavy from the Greek wine I had imbibed. I headed down towards my little home carefully in case I missed my footing in my inebriated state. I thought about calling Dom, just to hear his voice, but then remembered I had accidentally-on-purpose left my mobile ‘phone back in England.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realise I had company until I came around to the front of the cottage. At the table, on which stood a lit candle in a hurricane lamp, was the strong, handsome profile of Stefanos.
He made no attempt to explain his presence, just merely nodded as I came into view. I walked past him and into the cottage to get myself a shawl. The clear night was still warm but it was losing some of its intensity. The lack of streetlights on this part of the island meant that the stars were fiercely shining down on us. There were more stars in the sky than I had ever seen in my life. It was a shame that the only person I had to share it with was a man who could barely stand the sight of me.
When I finally sat down next to him on the bench Stefanos sat forward and asked, “So, where did your parents live?”
“Lakira Street. Do you know it?”
He shook his head. “I have never been into Varosha. The city came under attack many years before I was born.”
“Of course.”
“Drink?” he asked picking up a bottle of red.
“Please,” I said, even though I had no intention of drinking anything else except water for the rest of the night.
“Why were they here?”
“Mum’s husband, Eddie, was in the army – the 9th Signal Regiment. He was posted here. Mum moved out here with him when they got married. She returned to England shortly after I was born. I think Eddie is back in Cyprus but I’m not sure where.”
“Is that why you are here? To track down your father?”
“Noooo,” I said slowly. “He’s not my father. My father was a Greek Cypriot. I don’t even know his name. I hope that I might be able to find out who my real family is, or was, but I don’t know if I can.”
“And your mother? She cannot help answer your questions?”
“No, it’s a bit complicated.”
“She is ashamed, yes? Of her affair?”
“Oh God, no! No, it’s not that! She didn’t have an affair. She doesn’t know much more about my father than I do, and you’ll just have to take my word for it that she has her reasons for not wanting to talk about it. So, your turn. Why does Yaiyai hate the British?”
Stefanos laughed at this. It transformed his studious face instantaneously and he looked like the handsome young man that he was.
“Her memories from sixty years ago are clearer than those from yesterday. She still holds the British responsible for the death of her eldest son and she will never forgive them for that. He was an EOKA fighter. You know of EOKA?”
“A little,” I ventured. “But I’m not sure I really understand the difference between EOKA and EOKA-B.”
Stefanos sighed and his eyes hardened as if he was trying to condense all the information in his brain into a palatable amount for me to grasp. “Okay... so EOKA wanted the British out of the island and in 1955 there was an uprising. It lasted for four years. Firstly I should say that neither side was blameless but EOKA used some pretty dirty tactics and killed innocent people, the wives and children of servicemen. You have to understand that they were furious that they didn’t have control of their own country. The British didn’t really have any right to be here.”
“And Yaiyai’s son died in the fighting?”
“No. The British rounded up the troublemakers and interrogated them. They claim they did not torture them but fourteen Cypriots died during these ‘interrogations’. One man was Yaiyai’s son.”
“No! Seriously? I hadn’t heard that.”
“What had you heard about EOKA?”
I cringed, unsure whether to be honest or not and risk offending Stefanos again but the wine had expanded my parameters and my confidence levels.
“Well, I thought… I thought that EOKA was little more than a terrorist group that targeted innocent people. My understanding is they were rewarded for their terrorism with the British ceding control to the Cypriots and just holding on to the two army bases.”
“Hmmmm. You shouldn’t tell Yaiyai you think of them as terrorists,” he smiled. “Of course, this wasn’t only a fight between EOKA and the British Army. EOKA murdered Turkish Cypriots who had worked with the British. They killed a Turkish Policeman in 1955 so the Turks targeted the Greeks living in Istanbul. Thousands had to flee from the city. When EOKA tried again to get the British out, TNT – that’s the Turkish National Party – killed eight Greek Cypriot men from Kondemenos. They bombed their own press office in Nicosia and blamed it on the Greeks. Even after independence from Britain had been declared, the Turkish Navy was caught sending a ship to Cyprus full of arms for the TNT. Yaiyai hates the Turks just as much as she hates the British. Maybe more.”
“So why are the rest of your family so welcoming to the British? Is it because of the money that they bring with them in terms of tourism?”
“Do you know that you keep answering your own questions before I have time to open my mouth?” he asked with a frown.
“Sorry! Bad habit.”
“The rest of us have reasons to forgive the British and be thankful for their presence here.”
“Go on,” I urged.
“When the Turks invaded in 1974, my family did not want to leave their home and their businesses. One of my mother’s sisters, Tula, had three children. Her two sons had gone to join with the fighting. Tula refused to leave until they were both home safely, she thought that they would not find her again if she left. So she stayed along with her daughter, Anemone. My grandparents had to leave them behind. They picked up all they could carry and they ran.
My grandparents had nowhere to go so the British Army opened up their bases and gave them shelter and safety. The Turkish stopped when they reached these bases. They didn’t want to start a war with the Brit
ish too, and so we are thankful that these bases existed.”
“I see. What happened to Tula and…”
“Anemone?”
“Yes, Tula and Anemone?” I asked dreading the answer.
Stefanos bowed his head and sighed. “We never saw my aunt again, nor her daughter. We can only assume the worst. They are among the 1,619 Greek Cypriots who went missing. It broke my mother’s heart. She was not close to her sister, there was a large gap in age, but she loved Anemone. They were more like sisters themselves. My mother looked out for her and played with her. She will never forgive herself for leaving her. She still haunts her dreams. She has nightmares about what happened to that little girl, but we will never know. She just wants to find her body and lay her to rest.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea that so many people are still unaccounted for. What about Tula’s sons?”
“One of them died in the fighting but the younger one, Jani, was rescued by an off-duty British soldier. He had been shot and left to die in a pit in the mountains but this soldier, he found him and carried him to safety. He literally owes his life to the British.
“It is difficult for my family to talk about. Only eighty-seven bodies have been identified and returned to their families so far. The UN-sponsored missing persons committee are still searching and testing DNA but it is a long and difficult process.” Stefanos paused and sipped his wine.
In the absence of anything to say, I did the same.
“My father remembers it all clearly. He was a young man in his teens when the invasion happened. He and my mother were not yet married but they were engaged. They want to move on with their lives and hope to see a day when North and South Cyprus are unified again. Hatred is a disease that eats you up from the inside. When the border controls were relaxed and we were allowed to cross over to Northern Cyprus, do you know what my mother did? She went to visit her father’s old shop and spoke to the Turkish family who run it now. She wanted to see who lived there now and wanted to wish them luck.”
“Wow. That’s amazing. And what about the Turkish family? How did they feel about seeing your mother after all of these years?”
“They were happy. They gave her a box of photographs that her parents had left behind when they fled. They had kept it in case they ever saw my grandparents again. My parents will not hold a grudge against these people but not everyone is so... so... understanding.”
I mulled that over for a moment. I was amazed at how forgiving people could be. It must have been difficult for Antheia to see the place where she once had lived but she had still wished the new occupants luck.
“So,” I asked, “tell me, how does EOKA-B differ from EOKA?”
“Right,” Stefanos took a deep breath. “After the Treaty of Guarantee in 1960 there was no more EOKA, but there were still many on the island who wanted to take things a step further. When Archbishop Makarios showed no signs of pursing Enosis, EOKA-B began.”
“Remind me again what Enosis is?” I asked, somewhat sheepishly.
“Enosis. Closer links with the motherland. You know? Becoming part of Greece.”
“Surely it doesn’t take a genius to work out that the Turkish population of Cyprus would oppose this?”
“Leni, you are being a little arrogant. You think that you are cleverer than everybody else? Do you think that the Greek Cypriots are idiots? Sometimes people are so blinded by their own desires that they do not think of the consequences. When the EOKA-B and the Military Junta launched a coup against Makarios, nobody could have known how the Turks would have responded. They were just waiting for an excuse to invade and, yes, EOKA-B handed it to them.
“Many people feel that we were betrayed by our own motherland. People who should have been protecting us led us into a war where too many people paid with their lives. Everybody had an opinion. There is a saying in politics – ‘Five Greeks, six parties’.
“The Cypriot people have paid a heavy price for this. They are still paying a price, both Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots. They were all forced out of their homes and both sides suffered. Yes, it is true that you could blame the Greek Cypriots for overthrowing Makarios. But the issue here is the strength of the invasion by the Turks. We could not match their firepower. They had forty thousand troops when we only had twelve thousand. They had tanks, howitzers, destroyers, submarines, helicopters and combat aircraft. We had guns and tanks. That is all. Do you think that is a fair fight?”
Stefanos stopped abruptly and stared straight ahead. I could see the muscles in his jaw pulsing as he tried to control his anger. Even in the deepening darkness of the night I could see the hardness in his eyes. I had read some of the facts about the Turkish invasion of 1974 as I tried to research the country of my birth but to hear it like this from someone emotionally involved in the struggle made it hard to digest.
“I’m sorry, Stefanos. I didn’t mean to sound...” My voice trailed off. “I don’t know anything about the personal cost of war. I am only just beginning to find out about what it cost my family.”
“Your family?” Stefanos turned on me with nostrils flaring and thinly disguised contempt in his eyes. “Your family? What do your family know of loss? You were safe within the boundaries of the British army bases, your family didn’t see any fighting, your family aren’t wondering what happened to their loved ones and whether they’ll ever be able to find their bodies and lay them to rest.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me!” I snapped at him placing my hands with unnecessary force on the table in front of me so that the wine glasses rattled. Stefanos’ eyes widened and he physically moved away from me with what looked like fear on his face. “You don’t know anything about my family or about me.” I stood up, hands shaking and voice quivering. “The woman that I call my mother was shot by the Turks. My biological mother was killed by the Turks. I don’t even know what happened to my birth father. My whole world has been turned upside-down and I might not understand everything that happened,but I amtryingto understand. I amtrying to learn more. Why do you think I am asking all these questions? Eh? Why do you think I am desperate to get into Varosha? I don’t knowanything about where I came from or who my biological parents were. I am trying to get some answers. And what about you? You weren’t even born then. How dare you carry around all this anger and resentment when you have lived a happy and harmonious life in the arms of your family this whole time? You have no understanding of real pain. You are like every bloody student I’ve ever met, thinks they know every-bloody-thing but actually have experienced NOTHING!”
He caught my arm and stood to face me. I could feel his breath on my cheek and smell his musky scent. I looked at his perfect lips that parted with a sigh and he took a step closer to me so that our bodies were touching. He let his hand slide down my arm and I shivered, suddenly breaking free of the trance I was in.
“Don’t touch me, Stefanos!”
I shook my arm free and stormed into the cottage. I paused at the door and faced him. He looked confused and hurt standing in the shadows. An apology began to form on my tongue and I started to reach out towards him, wanting to run my hand over his firm chest. I knew the alcohol was impairing my decision-making skills but desire was taking over my cognitive reasoning. I watched as look of triumph crept into his eyes and he started to smile lazily, taking a step in my direction. I gripped hold of the door tightly in one hand. The smugness on his face ignited a rage in my heart as I realised then that I had fallen into his trap.
With a smile that didn’t reach my eyes I slammed the door firmly in his face.
Chapter ten
Cyprus, 1974
When Pru awoke to the polite applause of the early morning rain, she had the feeling she had been battling with bad dreams all night. Rain, which had long been absent on this island, was an unfamiliar sound to Pru, yet she found herself comforted by its staccato beat. An unsettled feeling of foreboding was tapping at her consciousness and her throat was sore and scratchy. She tried a small cough, h
er voice sounding far away and not at all like her own, and pain coursed through her body with torrential force. Her stomach erupted with a fire that she was unable to name. With her eyes squeezed shut she tried a deep breath through her nose but her expanding chest met aching ribs and caused an arrow of pain to shoot through her left shoulder. But still Pru didn’t open her eyes. She knew there was something she needed to remember but, with equal certainty, she knew there was something that she did not want to recollect.
While the shutters on her eyes were able to block out the sights in front of her face, the smells assaulting her nose were not so easily kept at bay. There was something different about her room today. The pillow under her head smelled starched and the air surrounding her was thinner, cooler and percolated by the scent of crisp efficiency.
A murmured statement. A man’s voice.
“She’s waking up. I’ll get Eddie.” There was the anguished scrape of a chair leg on a hard floor.
“Eddie’s home,” she thought to herself. “That’s good.”
“Hinny?” A woman’s voice this time. “Can you hear me?”
Pru knew the voice but couldn’t associate it with a face for the time being. “It’ll come back to me,” she thought and she burrowed her head deeper into the pillow and drifted away to sleep.
“She’s lost a lot of blood and she’s been given a heavy sedative. I’m afraid she might be coming in and out of consciousness for some time yet. But all the signs are as good as they can be at this time. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”
“Yes of course, Doctor. Thanks.”
Eddie looked at his fragile wife, lying prone before him. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her milky skin was alabaster smooth. A rose-pink flush tinted her high cheekbones. Her eyelids pulsed with visions that only Pru could see. Her dry pale lips parted in a gasp then went slack.
Eddie had known as soon as he laid eyes on her that he had to have her. She had evidently felt the same and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. When her folks had kicked her out of home Eddie never once felt trapped by the situation. He had felt like it was always meant to be and it had strengthened their relationship. It was the two of them against the world now and they were unstoppable.